


In Broad Dawnlight

by harpysong



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, LOTS OF PINING GUYS, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oh also, PAINFUL slow burn my dudes, Pining, Post-World of Warcraft: Legion, Quel'Thalas, Slow Burn, all sorts of dumb tropes, and blush at literally everything?, at the end of the day this is just a long convoluted way for me to embarrass my friends, by taking their OCs and making them fall in love, i mean "why are you idiots not KISSING yet" slow burn my dudes, this is the fic for you friend, you want to see two gay morons angst over each other?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpysong/pseuds/harpysong
Summary: “S.. Setrien, please... will I ever see you again?”The cloaked elf swallowed once, his throat dry.  “... It would not be wise,” he replied hoarsely.Pain lanced through Rathaes' heart at his Knight-Lord's words.  “It may not be wise,” he admitted quietly, “but it would be right.”------This is a crack ship between my guild master (Tendael) and my co-officer (Rathaes) on the server Moon Guard.  It's designed to torment them because they are both in happy hetero relationships and my chaotic bi ass likes to see them squirm.  So I'm writing a torrid love affair between their characters.  Support me in my memey endeavour by making this fic popular in the WoW fandom, and I will forever be in your debt.





	1. Wisdom Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful guildies in the Dominion of the Sun for encouraging me to devote hours and hours of my life to this nonsense.

Rain beat against the canopy above as Rathaes Blackvale, Knight-Eminence of the Dominion of the Sun, strode through the winding pathways of the Muted Forest at dusk. Though Quel'Thalas was typically free of such weather, this region had been enchanted to rain occasionally, as many felt the water allowed for a more cathartic atmosphere. The violet glow of lingering twilight strained against the charcoal clouds above, leaving the normally vibrant orange foliage a more somber maroon. Rathaes preferred it this way, really; though he could not see these colors, he remembered what they used to look like. The memory of burgundy-stained leaves dripping like blood to the ground served as a painful reminder of his failure to protect his loved ones. It was a pain that he felt he deserved.

_Loved ones..._

Rathaes scoffed at the notion. _Love? From a demon hunter?_ he thought to himself. _Who would want love from such a monster? Besides, I sacrificed such frivolous emotions long ago..._

His own thoughts stung him more than he cared to admit to himself. Shaking them away as if they were mere gnats, he continued his way through the woods, attempting not to dwell on such negativity.

The small trails leading through the forest split off in various directions here and there, each leading to a different tomb somewhere in the darkened trees. Generations of Dawnlights were buried here, with their golden crowns and their crimson shrouds. It was said that their very spirits sometimes walked the woods, offering the young heirs and heiresses of Evandien what insight they could on how to rule.

Rathaes had no time for the legends and legacies of the dead, and he swiftly passed by each little path that split off to invite him to a Dawnlight's grave. The demon hunter visited here frequently, but never to seek out the tombs of lords and ladies past. No, he was here for another reason...

Eventually, he veered off of the designated road, slipping through the trees as if he knew his way by memory alone. Minutes passed before he reached a clearing and stopped. Across from him, at the center of the glade, stood a lone tree, with a stone plaque resting against its trunk. Its surface bore “Tendael Dawnlight II - MIA” in Thalassian letters, crudely etched by an amateur hand. A small heart was carved into the upper right corner.

“My lord,” Rathaes murmured mournfully and stepped forward into the rain, amber leaves and branches crackling beneath his feet like the fire smoldering deep within his chest. He approached the plaque and fell to his knees before it, his palms flat against the damp ground. “I was not there to protect you...” His empty eye sockets burned with grief and regret behind his blindfold, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists into the grass. “I.. I should have been the one to take the fall.. I should have.. I should have..” The demon hunter pulled away his mask, a strangled sob escaping him as he furiously wiped away a sudden torrent of tears. “I'm so sorry... Please, come back,” he choked, his muddy hands leaving streaks of dirt across his face.

A rustle sounded from behind Rathaes. He immediately reached for the warglaives strapped across his back and spun around with enough speed to send his drenched ebony tresses into his face, where they stuck against the mud. Yet as he prepared to beat back the intruder for interfering with his private moment, he sensed a presence he had not felt.. in.. months..

“Lord Dawnlight?” the demon hunter whispered, cursing the crack in his traitorous voice. His soft tone carried just barely through the pouring rain.

A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows at the edge of the clearing, something akin to hesitation in its step. As it neared Rathaes, it reached up to its hood and pulled it back, allowing lush sun-kissed hair to spill out into the waiting downpour. Golden eyes, brimming with moisture, peered out at the frozen demon hunter, who was too shocked to move an inch.

“Rathaes,” the blond man spoke, inching forward and reaching up to tenderly brush the Knight-Eminence's hair out of his face. “I could not bear to see you weep like this any more. I thought one day you might stop coming... but you never did.” His fingers gently returned to the demon hunter's cheeks, cleaning them of the dirt and tears which ran in rivets down their entirety. He halted suddenly, as if only just now realizing what he was doing. Quickly, he jerked his hand away, a faint blush spreading across his face, making him grateful for the other man's lack of sight. 

Rathaes merely gaped for what felt like an eternity, unable to respond. However, as he felt the cold night air assail his bare cheek, he moved to grasp his companion's retreating hand, instinctively feeling the need to maintain contact. As soon as he did this, though, he released his grip and cleared his throat, fighting his own embarrassment by crossing his arms across his chest. 

The two stood in silence for a moment, before Rathaes finally spoke up again. “Lord Dawnlight, I..” Another voice crack. He cursed his faulty vocal chords. “.. I knew.. I always knew, deep down, they were wrong.. I knew you would return to m—to us...” Color danced across his countenance at his mistake.

If Tendael picked up on the slip, he did not mention it. He merely offered the demon hunter a delicate, warm smile. “Of course I did,” he replied, then began to frown slightly. “Only... Rathaes, no one must know that I yet live.. the disturbance it could cause.. the chaos it could herald.. no, I must be patient.” His expression filled with both affection and sorrow. “And so must you.”

“What?!” Rathaes exclaimed, unable to stop himself. “After all this time? Please, my lord, we.. we need you! I...” He trailed off, determined not to make any more of a fool of himself than he already had.

The desperation in Rathaes' voice was agony to Tendael's ears, but he persevered and shook his head. “I am sorry, Rathaes. I should not have revealed myself to you like this in the first place... I just could not stand idly by while you spent another night so drowned in despair.” He turned on his heel, pulling his hood back up to cover his face. “This was a mistake. I'm sorry I dragged you into this... I should go.” His voice wavered as he spoke. After an instant of reluctance, he briskly walked back toward the trees.

“Lord Dawnlight!” Rathaes called, lifting a hand in his direction as if he could pull him back from afar. “Setrien!” He inhaled sharply as he watched the other man stop and wait, listening. “S.. Setrien, please... will I ever see you again?” It was hard to ignore how much it hurt to know that he could never truly _see_ Tendael.

The cloaked elf swallowed once, his throat dry. “... It would not be wise,” he replied hoarsely.

Pain lanced through Rathaes' heart at his Knight-Lord's words. “It may not be wise,” he admitted quietly, “but it would be right.”

Tendael remained silent for an excruciatingly long few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was almost too low to hear, but it sent the demon hunter's pulse racing. “... Sundancer Village, by the fountain in the main square. Tomorrow night. Wear a disguise.” With that said, the Knight-Lord disappeared into the Muted Forest, the final resting place of his ancestors, and left Rathaes alone in the relentless rain.


	2. The Maiden and the Satyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tendael has plans for a special evening in the village, but things don't quite turn out the way he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up buttercups, it's about to get gay

_What were you thinking?_

Tendael Dawnlight II could not shake the incessant criticism coming from his own sense of judgment. _Stupid, stupid,_ it cried at him, tearing away at the last strands of his composure as he sat on the edge of the fountain in Dayspring Square, wringing his calloused hands together. His dark magenta linen hood cast a mauve shadow over his face, shrouding the doubt made manifest in his troubled expression.

_He's not coming. You shouldn't have opened your idiot mouth._

A child ran by, giggling and leading her mother through the square. Ribbons streamed from her hair, and a vibrant flower crown sat askew upon her head, falling into her eyes occasionally and forcing her to hold it up with one hand while she tugged her mother along with the other.

“Mom, I wanna go pet the chickens!” the girl exclaimed, practically bouncing as she tried to make her mother hurry up.

The woman sighed and held her daughter's hand firmly, attempting to slow her down to a fast walk. “We will, sweetheart, if you behave yourself. Now remember, we can't stay for long; we've got to make it to the center of the field for the—”

“For the dance, I know!”

Their voices faded away into chatter as Tendael stared at his clammy hands, clenching them with frustration. The Sundancer Festival was today, and masses of elves were crowding the streets on their way to the open field just outside the village walls. Tendael had thought, just maybe, he could enjoy the celebrations with Rathaes.

_A fool's hope,_ the beast in him chided cruelly. He tried to ignore it. He failed.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as the sun sank lower and lower into the horizon. Despite his silent pleas, it would not stop its course, and he could only watch as the shadows grew steadily longer, reaching toward him with mocking talons. He tugged his hood down further, as if it could protect him from the humiliation seeping into his very bones, plaguing him with—

“Setrien?”

Tendael's head shot up. He turned toward the sound, and the last vestiges of sunlight glinted in his unshed tears. “Rathaes,” he breathed, the name wafting like smoke from his lips. His face stretched into a relieved smile, but he abruptly faltered and narrowed his eyes at the demon hunter before him.

He was wearing... a floppy sun hat. With holes cut into the sides for his horns to stick out.

“... That's not a disguise.”

“What?! It is so! Look, it covers my features!”

“...”

“...”

“... No.”

Tendael sighed and stood up, reaching a hand out to grasp Rathaes' own and drag him across the square. He was too distracted by this utter failure of a disguise to notice the deep plum flush dominating the demon hunter's face.

“What about you?” Rathaes protested, attempting to change the subject and deflect his own embarrassment from the sensation of Tendael's hand in his own. “What are you wearing? You're the more recognizable one of us, not me.”

Tendael rolled his eyes, stopping at a stall to exchange words and coins with a man there. “Rathaes, there are thousands of elves just like me in this village today,” he pointed out as the shopkeeper stepped away to grab a few items. “There are approximately zero demon hunters. And you have done just about _the_ shittiest job of masking your demon hunter-y...ness,” he ended lamely, then accepted the bag of goods handed to him by the returning merchant. “Come on.”

They continued through the marketplace, with Tendael making various stops here and there, all the while watching anxiously as the sky threatened to turn to complete dark. He was running out of time, and he knew it. He quickened his pace and eventually pulled Rathaes into the dressing room of a random clothing shop before anyone could take note.

“Sit there, and stay still,” he ordered, pulling out a makeup kit from his newly acquired purchases.

 

* * *

 

“... I look like a furry.”

“You have horns and claws and wings. You always look like a furry.”

“I look like a gay furry.”

Tendael decided not to comment on that, given that the notion of “Rathaes” and “gay” together was conjuring up a slew of unsolicited images that were not helping the blush already making itself at home on his cheeks, thank you very much.

Rathaes exhaled irritably through his nostrils, still picking at a strip of fake fur glued to his arm. “This is ridiculous. I'm not going outside looking like this,” he declared, a deep frown settling on his visage.

“You can't even see. You don't know what you look like.”

“I can feel the fur you glued all over my body!” the demon hunter protested, waving his hairy arms in the blond man's face. “It doesn't take a genius to figure out what I look like—some kind of weird, walking, talking animal creature.” He reached up to rub at his jaw, but Tendael smacked his hand away with a scowl.

“Don't touch! I put a lot of effort into your makeup,” the Knight-Lord admonished, then stepped back to admire his work.

Rathaes' horns were far too prominent to hide, but they were so easily recognizable that leaving them untouched was simply not an option. Thankfully, Tendael's craftier side shone through. With the help of various muslin cloths, scraps of fur, and heavy makeup, the demon hunter had been transformed into a comical-looking satyr, right down to the tail Tendael had pulled from a Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey game. It was ridiculous and very obviously improvised, but that only increased the chances that people would assume the horns were just part of a silly costume. The tattoos were hard to cover up—they had such an annoying sheen to them—but after enough time and diligence on Tendael's part, they were eventually passable as normal flesh.

He soon became acutely aware that he had been outright staring at the “satyr's” bare chest for longer than was necessary. Swiftly, he averted his gaze. “You look.. good,” he admitted, clearing his throat and cleaning up the leftover materials in an attempt to distract himself.

The vexed grimace on Rathaes' face softened out of surprise. Were it not for the heavy makeup hiding his skin color, his creeping blush would have been blatantly evident. “.. Thanks,” he managed to choke out once his lungs decided to cooperate. “I.. I meant it earlier,” he added nervously, “when I wanted to know what you're wearing. I wish I could see, but..” He trailed off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Tendael remained quiet for a few moments, then opened his mouth hesitantly. “You said you could visualize your own costume through touch,” he pointed out slowly, raising his eyes to peer at Rathaes cautiously. “Perhaps.. you could do the same with mine.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he turned away, cursing inwardly. “Sorry, it's a stupid idea, I don't want to make you uncomf—”

Rathaes silenced him by slipping tentative hands around the blond man's waist. “Is this okay?” he inquired, feeling the cloth along Tendael's torso, then moving downward to the voluminous skirts covering his legs. He inhaled sharply. “... Are you wearing a dress?”

Tendael had just begun to relax, but the question made him stiffen defensively. “Is there a problem with that?” he demanded, moving to pull away, but Rathaes tightened his grip to stop him.

“No,” he insisted roughly, his hands traveling back up to the bodice of the dress. “I like it.” A fire lit inside of him at the idea of his Knight-Lord clad in such delicate clothing. “What color is it?” His voice came out strained and pitchy; he cleared his throat in an effort to control it.

Tendael swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe and even more difficult to form words, too preoccupied by the demon hunter's roaming hands. “Uhh.. uh, p-peach,” he stammered, then forced his vocal chords to stabilize. “And dark magenta.” The seconds ticked by as he held his breath, scared to exhale and ruin whatever... this... was. Eventually, he spoke up, his tone soft. “We should go...”

Rathaes hummed in agreement, but made no move to pull his hands away.

A chill of dread suddenly skittered down Tendael's spine. “Oh no,” he breathed, then rapidly snatched up his belongings and made for the exit. “We really have to get going. Right now.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Rathaes standing still, looking confused. “Right now, Blackvale!” he barked, his demeanor frantic.

“Yes, Knight-Lord,” the demon hunter intoned out of pure instinct, hurrying to catch up to the other man.

The two sped through the darkened streets of Sundancer Village, Tendael leading the way and dragging Rathaes along by his hand. Upon reaching the edge of the field where the local festival was being held, the men could hear the sound of jovial music playing in the distance. Through the crowd, they could just barely make out what appeared to be a bonfire, its wild flames lifting into the sky, painting the starlit canvas with a trail of smoke as grey as the Banshee Queen's morality.

“Oh, Light,” Tendael hissed, his grip on Rathaes' hand clenching as he suddenly burst forward, pushing through the crowd with no regard for civility. There were a few shocked protests, but he could not bring himself to care. All that mattered was getting there on time, catching the last few minutes of the dance, even the last few seconds, that was all he wanted as he ran, ran, _ran_ —

He burst forth into the clearing, where villagers in all sorts of costumes and gowns were dancing around the raging bonfire, just as the music faded off and the movement ceased. Cheers and clapping erupted from all around, but Tendael could only hear the blood pounding in his ears, could only feel the horrible sinking sensation settling like a rock in his stomach, could only see the blurry outline of the fire through his tearful vision. He released his grasp on Rathaes, letting his hands fall to his sides as the pain of utter disappointment speared his heart.

The emotion must have been clear on his face, because as the crowd began to disperse and abandon the bonfire, the demon hunter beside him placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder and murmured, “Wait here.” He disappeared for a minute, leaving Tendael racked with loneliness.

Just as the Knight-Lord was preparing to depart, his ears picked up on the telltale trill of a violin from nearby. Brows knit together in confusion, he turned toward the source and saw a horned head making its way back from a band of musicians several yards away. The light of the fire flickered across Rathaes' face, casting a warm, inviting glow upon his features as he meandered through the crowd. Tendael's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of it.

“Come,” Rathaes murmured in a voice far too tender for a demon hunter. His touch was feather-light as he led his fair-haired companion out into the clearing by the bonfire and placed his hands around the other's hips, pulling him closer and beginning to sway to the rhythm.

Tendael could have sworn the pounding of his pulse was audible to everyone at the festival. Being this close to Rathaes, with the heat of the flames warming their embrace... it was almost too much for him. Tentatively, trying to prevent his hands from shaking, he reached up and hooked his arms around the demon hunter's neck. Despite the running and the heightened temperature, Rathaes' black tresses were still silky and smooth beneath Tendael's fingers. It amazed him, but he forced himself not to get carried away.

The pace of the song picked up, and so too did their dance. Rathaes leaned back to grab a hold of Tendael's hand, and he spun him around before guiding him back in close. Their steps were clumsy and awkward, yet neither one could remember a time in their lives where they had felt so free and alive. They danced not to the beat of the music, but to the beat of their hearts.

As the music finally slowed to a halt, both men found themselves pressed close, their faces mere inches apart. Tendael's eyes widened as their hastened breath mingled, and he could not help but spare a glance toward those velvety lips so near to his own. Just a bit closer.. closer...

_BOOM._

Blazing gold illuminated the skies as the first firework went off, bringing the dazed men out of their stupor. Tendael jerked back, coughing into his fist and turning away. “Thank you for the dance,” he stated with fake calm. He stared pointedly up at the vibrant display of fireworks now filling the air with the sound of gunshots.

Rathaes' throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, running his clawed digits through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Of course, Lord Dawnlight,” he uttered under his breath, tilting his head upward and pretending to watch the fireworks. Perhaps he hoped that Tendael would not take note of the fact that such a feat was impossible for him.

Tendael did, of course, notice. His embarrassment evaporated into the crackling air, replaced by concern and pity. “Follow me.” The Knight-Lord once again took Rathaes by the hand and led him through the crowd, gradually progressing toward the edge of the festival. “And... I like it when you call me Setrien,” he confessed, not daring to cast a look over his shoulder.

There was a brief pause, followed by the sound of Rathaes drawing in a breath and beginning to speak. Before the demon hunter could get a word out, he was interrupted by an exclamation from Tendael.

“Aha!” the blond man interjected, leading Rathaes to the top of a small slope. “Here. Sit.” Not allowing for a chance to object, he gently but sturdily guided the confused man to the ground. The fireworks were still going strong as Tendael took a seat for himself in the grass.

“... What are we doing here, exactly?”

“Shh,” Tendael hushed, leaning back on his hands to mimic the pose Rathaes had taken up next to him. “You can't see them, so I thought I'd find somewhere quiet for us to sit so I can describe them to you.” Several blaring bangs punctuated his statement as if to mock him. “... Well, quiet enough, at least.”

Rathaes was clearly taken off guard by such an act of thoughtfulness. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, deigning to instead wait for Tendael to continue.

And so, the Knight-Lord allowed the tension in his muscles to dissipate, a smile overtaking him as he set about explaining the shapes and colors of the myriad fireworks sparkling before him. He let himself become passionately immersed in the beauty of it all, and _almost_ failed to notice when Rathaes' fingers brushed against his own, seeking just that extra wisp of contact. _Almost_.

Neither of them mentioned it, but neither of them moved away either.

They were building a house of glass cards, and one wrong breath could bring the whole beautiful, frightening masterpiece shattering down on them.


	3. A Million Little Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tendael and Rathaes decide to spend some more time together and travel the country a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my pain in the ass guild mates kept pestering me to update so here u are u little shits, here's ur dose of gay

Rathaes Blackvale, Knight-Eminence of the Dominion of the Sun, bane of demons and slayer of more foes than any sane being could count, a hardened soldier who has stared cosmic annihilation in its terrible fel eye and spat in defiance, is no stranger to the concept of death. He has always accepted it as a part of the whole, a piece of the puzzle that is a demon hunter's existence. He knew that his time would eventually come, that his sins would catch up to him, and in the stillness of many a lonely night, he has allowed himself the guilty pleasure of imagining the glorious blaze in which he would finally go down. Surrounded by countless enemies, or protecting orphans, or locked in an epic duel with Queen Azshara herself as he sank his glaives into her cold heart, but wait, she had a gun hidden in one of her many limbs, and the cold metal was against his flesh before he could do anything, and she shrieked, “I won't hesita-”—

Well, the point being, he had come up with many elaborate plans regarding his demise.

Not one of them included a decrepit old man waving a rusty key in his face.

_But this_ , Rathaes thought, listening to the grime-ridden metal creak as it swayed on its chain. _This might be the end._

 

 

**10 Minutes Earlier**

 

“We can't stay here, Rathaes. It's too small. The less people there are, the more likely it is we'll stand out.”

“Well, we can't exactly stay somewhere grandiose. The classier places will be full of people who know your face—people who have probably kissed your hand and danced with you at fancy galas.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No! I just—I'm trying to be practical here. You're the one who _insists_ on not being recognized.”

“Yes, which is exactly why staying at this tiny inn where everyone will be watching us is a terrible idea.”

Rathaes pinched his brow in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. He and Tendael had been wandering Evandien City since sundown, searching for a place to stay for the night, but hours had passed and they had yet to find anywhere that they both deemed suitable. Tendael wanted somewhere large and full of bustling life, to allow them to blend into a crowd, whereas Rathaes knew he needed a place that was perhaps a bit more shady so that he, as a demon hunter, could pass under the radar as a relatively normal patron.

In short, their requirements were a bit demanding.

Huffing a sigh, Rathaes offered a gruff nod of resignation and continued his march down the streets, followed closely by the blond man at his side. They were both tired, the demon hunter knew, from their long day of travel from Sundancer Village. The two were determined to spend more time with each other, now that were finally in one another's presence. Unfortunately, having accidentally fallen asleep in uncomfortable positions on their grassy hill the night prior, their journey north was filled with aching backs and stiff necks. That may, potentially, have been a contributing factor to the slightly tense atmosphere between both men now.

Rathaes did _not_ like it. He missed the gentle flow of conversation, sometimes awkward but still somehow always comforting. The sound of Tendael's voice when he was content left Rathaes breathless, though he would never dare to admit it. Often, it made him wonder what his Knight-Lord's voice might sound with other inflections, like humor, or love, or arousal—

“Rathaes!”

Tendael's abrupt voice startled the demon hunter out of his reverie, for which he silently thanked whatever divine forces may exist, because that was definitely not a train of thought he could allow himself to entertain. Rather than trust his voice, he swallowed once and turned with an inquisitive quirk of his eyebrow to face the man beside him.

“Here,” Tendael continued, looping an arm through Rathaes' own—which the demon hunter struggled without success to ignore—and guiding him off the street and toward a nearby building. “ _The Silver Sailor_ ,” he declared, presumably reading off of the sign Rathaes could hear swinging above their heads.

After so many failures, he was skeptical. “Silver? Sounds a little fancy...” he commented, a sour expression on his features.

Tendael merely growled, flinging the door open and tugging Rathaes inside.

Immediately, a plethora of sounds and smells invaded the demon hunter's heightened senses. Chairs screeching against wooden floorboards, excitable travelers shouting their stories over one another, ale gushing from a keg and into a hefty mug. Lynx meat stew roasting over a crackling fire, sweat permeating a farmer's boots, dried sea salt in the hem of an angler's overcoat.

Yes, this would do quite nicely.

Rathaes could feel Tendael's piercing gaze on him, so he nodded curtly and let the other man lead him toward the innkeeper. He was still hyperaware of the pressure of his Knight-Lord's arm against his own, and the nervous beating of his heart only grew more erratic as a tavern patron bumped into the blond man and sent him careening into Rathaes' chest. Instinctively, the demon hunter's free hand reached out to steady his companion, and he waited for the nobleman to separate and right himself.

He did, but not before letting out a soft exhalation and murmuring a “thank you” accompanied by an appreciative squeeze of Rathaes' arm.

It took Rathaes a moment to reboot his brain before he could continue following Tendael.

“Welcome to the Silver Sailor,” an old man drawled, the distance of his voice indicating that his back was turned. “What can I get for you?” He tossed a dish cloth of some kind into a corner, where it landed with a thud, and turned around finally.

“We're looking for a couple of rooms,” Tendael replied, forcing his voice a few octaves lower than usual to disguise himself. Rathaes might have cracked an amused smile if he was not so drained. “Just for the night. What's your fare?”

The man sucked at his remaining teeth and let out a dry grunt. “Not your lucky day, pal. Sorry,” he said, not really sounding terribly sorry at all. “Only got one room open tonight. Top floor. 414. One bed. Five gold.” He pulled out an aged key from some presumably dirty pocket in his jacket, held it out in front of the two young men, and extended his other hand to snap his fingers impatiently and leave it palm up. “You want it, it's yours. But you're gonna have to share.”

And just like that, the blood drained directly out of every functioning inch of Rathaes' body and collected all in his face, which subsequently began to glow with embarrassment.

Yes. Yes, this might very well be the moment of his death.

Sharing a room with Tendael? Sharing a _bed_? No, no, absolutely not. Rathaes resolved to sleep on the floor. That would definitely be the best option. The only option. But, no, wait, what if Tendael took it as an insult? What if he thought it meant he was repulsive? Perhaps he should ask his Knight-Lord if he could in fact sleep with him after all. Wait! What? That would sound so desperate! And probably completely out of line! And not to mention the connotations behind that particular phrasing; he would definitely have to rethink a way of wording it before—

“Alright, we'll sleep together, then.”

_Hhhwwwwhhh??? HHHH????_

Tendael fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a handful of coins, which clinked as he placed them in the innkeeper's open hand. “Hope you don't mind,” he murmured to the side, taking the key and leading Rathaes toward the staircase. “I just doubt we're going to find another place that meets our needs any time soon, and it's getting very late.”

Rathaes managed to actually return himself to some semblance of sanity when Tendael's words reached his ears. “Oh—yes, well, of course. It's necessary. Of course.” He stumbled slightly as they climbed the stairs in silence, but Tendael was there to hold him steady.

By the time they finally reached their room, 414, Rathaes was nearly shaking with nerves. He heard the sound of shuffling for a moment, then a click, as Tendael unlocked the door and stepped inside. It took the demon hunter a good few seconds before he managed to force his legs into action and follow through the threshold.

“It's really not so bad,” Tendael greeted him, evidently finding the room satisfactory. “There's some... weird stain on the floor, and I think the corner of the ceiling has a leaking problem, but... you know, it's decent. It'll—” He stopped suddenly, and Rathaes could hear the curtains flying open. “... do.” His final word left him in a breath.

Rathaes was at his side in an instant. “Is everything alright? What is it?” His newfound worry swept away any earlier nervous embarrassment, and his hand instinctively sought out Tendael's shoulder.

Silence reigned for a moment, before Tendael's own hand traveled up to cover Rathaes'. “It's beautiful,” he whispered, and just like that, the air rushed from the demon hunter's lungs. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and bottle the tenderness in his Knight-Lord's voice, to save it for his own and let it feed the fire within him.

Rathaes feared breaking the fragile calm that had claimed the room, but he dared to breathe, “Tell me.”

A ghost of a squeeze against his fingertips. “I can see all across the city below,” Tendael murmured, his tone reverent. How Rathaes wished his lord would grace him with a touch half so soft as the words falling from his lips like snow. Light of weight but heavy with the promise of beauty. “The moon is so bright tonight... covering the rooftops with a blue sheen. Little lights flicker in the windows all around us. There are stars reflected in the fountain water below.” A long, languid inhalation. “A million stars for a million wishes. That's what my mother used to tell me.” Tendael released a content sigh. “There's the mirror of a million little wishes down there. A million little happy dreams, dancing just for us every time the wind ripples through the water's surface.”

With a sudden burst of pain and longing, Rathaes found himself wishing, with agonizing clarity, that he had not torn his eyes out so long ago. Losing his vision had been a worthwhile sacrifice at first, but after these past couple of days, realizing how many experiences he could not share with Tendael left a constant pain gnawing at his insides. He had not felt himself desperately _wanting_ to see the world until he found someone to see the world _with_.

They remained like that for a long while, lingering in the pleasant serenity that had washed over them, until Tendael finally broke free, dropping his hand from Rathaes' and turning away from the window. “Let us rest.” He spoke quietly, as if he, too, were afraid to shatter this peace between them. “You don't mind sharing, right?”

Rathaes could only nod and carefully remove his shoes, placing them where they would not get in anyone's way. He found he was robbed of the ability to speak more and more often nowadays, but somehow, he thought, as he sat down gingerly upon the decidedly small bed and tucked himself under the covers, he did not mind. He could not mind, not when he could feel the warmth of his Knight-Lord's arm brushing against his own as he, too, settled beneath the sheets, and not when the blond man shifted, and suddenly his warm breath was drifting over the skin of Rathaes' neck like fairy dust.

And certainly, undeniably, he could not mind when a warm, tentative hand brushed over his torso, tugging him just that extra inch closer to slot their bodies together. There was something poetic, of course, in the way they fit together so seamlessly. But all the poets in the world, Rathaes thought as he drifted into slumber, could never hope to do it justice.

 


End file.
